Chapter 19 Gus #2
Next thing I knew I was on the sidewalk, dodging a determined jogger who happened to be a former teammate—and wasn’t that a fucking weird thing to say?
He was a younger guy…Tim, maybe? His face brightened when he saw me.
I thought for sure he’d spotted the paper bag, my proximity to the liquor store, and done the math, stoked at the idea of a raucous party, Bears-style.
But no.
“Hey, I heard you’re coaching at the high school in the fall. Dude, that’s so cool. My little brother is on that team, and he can’t shut up about how great next year is going to be. Your legend precedes you.”
I thanked him…at least, I thought I did. Don’t quote me. My head was mush and my chest hurt.
I hopped into my truck and drove south, turning into the church lot in Lester.
I’d come here often enough that I had a favorite parking spot now—strategically near the exit since I was sure I’d never stay for long.
I had nothing in common with the people in the multi-purpose room.
Comparatively speaking, my low was pretty high.
There was a grandmother with hair so white it was blue under the fluorescent light who’d had three DUIs and had been so wasted—or zazzled, as she’d put it—that she hadn’t remembered being arrested. She’d said the thought of losing her family to her addiction scared her straight.
A middle-aged father of four was another regular. He’d lost his job, blown up his marriage, and totaled a car before he’d realized he had a problem.
There were dozens of stories of blackouts, brushes with the law, hospital stays, countless interventions, and broken homes.
I couldn’t relate. Nothing truly horrible had happened to me.
In fact, booze made me feel powerful. I was the life of the party, the charming motherfucker who could Houdini himself out of any bind. I felt invincible when I was stoned.
It was the hangovers, the fogginess, and the utter lack of control I didn’t like. It was the uncertain spiral and the knowledge that this wasn’t a sustainable path.
I glanced at the paper bag on the passenger seat and took a deep breath, and another.
And then I called Rafe.
“Hi, I’m on my way home. I’ve had the craziest day…and I’m craving pasta. Does spaghetti sound good?”
“Yeah,” I choked out.
“Plain marinara or arrabiata? You like the spice, right?”
“Yeah.”
Rafe didn’t reply immediately. I almost asked if he was still there, but I knew he hadn’t gone anywhere.
“Are you okay?”
I swallowed hard. “Yeah.”
“You talked to your mom.” It was a statement, not a question. He hummed softly. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. I just wanted to hear your voice. Can you just…tell me something…anything?”
“Um…okay. Jackson made flaxseed brownies and brought them to the rink. I didn’t think it was possible to destroy brownies, but he did it.
I couldn’t take a second bite, and of course he asked if I liked it, and I had to fudge the truth and tell him I’d had a stomachache.
So now he thinks I’m sick. Celine didn’t bother with diplomacy. She literally gagged.”
I smiled through a fresh sheen of tears. “Poor guy.”
“Hmm.”
We stayed on the phone, neither of us speaking for a couple of minutes.
“I bought some Johnnie Walker,” I said finally.
“Oh.”
“I didn’t drink it. The longer I’m sitting with it next to me, the less I want it.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Dump it into the trash and go to the meeting. I’m here now…in the parking lot.”
“That’s good,” Rafe chirped. “It’s in Lester, right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Want to talk?”
“Not really. I feel stupid.” I let out a humorless half laugh and stared out the windshield.
“I don’t know why I care so much. There’s some weird psychology at play.
This isn’t about my mom. Not at all. She’ll get over it.
She’s not going to disown me because of a fucking internship.
She just has big opinions. The problem is me.
My go-to to handle any adversity is to self-medicate.
Dull the noise, make everyone laugh. I guess that’s not always possible.
Sometimes it has to hurt. And see, I realize all this…
but I still bought the booze. I don’t need it.
But if I’m so okay with being sober, why didn’t I tell my friends?
It’s not like they’re suddenly going to turn on me.
I know that too. I do this to myself. What the hell is wrong with—”
I jumped in my seat at the rap of knuckles against the window.
Rafe.
Here. In the church parking lot. In fucking Lester.
I unlocked the door, my brow furrowed in confusion as he slid into the seat beside me and set the paper bag on the floor.
“Hi.”
“Hi, yourself. What are you doing here?” I asked.
Rafe raked his teeth over his bottom lip. “I wasn’t far and…you sounded like you could use a friend.”
The lump in my throat expanded, cutting off my supply of oxygen and making my eyes water. I blinked, smiling as I shook my head in dismay.
“You came here…for me?”
He cocked his head slightly. “Of course. You’d do the same for me.”
“That’s true.” Yeah, I heard that too. My voice totally cracked. “Thanks.”
Rafe reached across the console and set a hand on mine. “I don’t know if this helps or not, but this smart guy I know told me that sometimes you just need to reset, take a deep breath, remember who you are. I think he was trying to tell me not to be so hard on myself.”
I pointed at my chest incredulously. “Was that me?”
He rolled his eyes and linked our fingers. “You’re doing your best, Gus. Give yourself some grace.”
“I’m trying.”
“What are you going to do about your mom?”
I shrugged. “Nothing to do. I took the job, and I have no regrets. She’ll be mad for a while.
I’m the first of her sons to push back, and she’s probably feeling disrespected and generally crappy.
I love my mom, and I don’t like upsetting her, but this isn’t me leaving my shoes on the kitchen counter or using the hose in the mudroom. ”
“Ew…you didn’t.”
“More than once,” I admitted, resisting the urge to feed him twenty stories from my misspent youth just to make him laugh. I fucking loved that laugh. I twisted our wrists to squeeze his hand. “Thank you for this.”
“Any time. Do you want me to stay? I can come inside with you.”
“No.” I cast my gaze toward the multipurpose room where a few people had gathered at the entrance. “I have to do this part myself.”
I held a hand out, wordlessly asking him to pass me the bag. I got out of the truck, poured the liquor on the grass, dumped the bottle into the trash, and met Rafe on the passenger side.
“See you at home,” he said casually.
I inclined my head and waved, and almost walked away. At the last second, I pulled Rafe to me, wrapped him in a monster hug, and didn’t let go for a long, long time.
Then I walked into the meeting and moved from my usual position on the wall and took one of the chairs at the center of the space.
I didn’t smile or nod a greeting to the strangers on either side of me.
Social niceties were a shield, and mine was long gone.
I was raw and defenseless…and very fucking nervous. But I was here.
And when my turn came, I spoke up for the first time.
“My name is Gus, and I think I need help.”